


custom carved

by TomBowline



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Scent Kink, Sexual Inexperience, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 11:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29435310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomBowline/pseuds/TomBowline
Summary: By the time the door to the storage-closet slid open, Sol was beginning to despair of seeing Tommy at all.Very late and very loose fill for Rarepair Week day two, “Duty owing”. Also, fill for the “blowjob” square on my Terror Bingo card!
Relationships: Thomas Armitage/Solomon Tozer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: The Terror Bingo, The Terror Rarepair Week 2021





	custom carved

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for mentions of body dysphoria; Sol’s genitals are referred to as cock, prick, cunt/cunny, folds, lips, and slit.

By the time the door to the storage-closet slid open, Sol was beginning to despair of seeing Tommy at all. It happened on occasion - a steward’s work was never finished, and several times Tommy had stood him up, as it were, only to shoot him a hushed apology the next time they ran into each other. Sol always shrugged, took it in his stride, and hoped for better luck next time - no point getting fussed about inconstant lovers, not when they both had work to be getting on with. 

As he sat on the low shelf and packed his pipe for the fifth time - a nice cover, in case anybody else were to happen upon him, though Tommy had assured him that nobody would at this hour - he was considering giving in and lighting it just to make the time worthwhile before he had to re-emerge. But in the next moment the door ground open on its track and Tommy’s sweet face popped into the gap, all bright eyes and dark mop of curls, and Sol spared not another thought for his tobacco.

He aimed a smile at the lad and spread his legs wide, silently beckoning. Tommy had the door closed and was down on his knees in the tight space before Sol could direct him - eager thing - but halted, then, looking up with lips parted and hands on his knees. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I’ve had duty owing.”

“You?” Sol grinned. He’d never known Tommy to be anything less than perfect in his work. “Never. Anyway—” He nudged him with one foot, frowning down at him. “Thought stewards couldn’t owe duty.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, sweetly peevish. “Not officially. But you try stealing a sip of leftover brandy from the table while Jopson’s watching and see what you get.”

“Oh, poor lamb.” Sol sucked his teeth. “What’d he have you doing?”

“Polishing glasses,” Tommy sighed, resting his head on Sol’s knee.  _ “All _ the glasses.”

“Yurgh. Can’t imagine.” Sol made a face - he was familiar enough with the lighter forms of Marine discipline to be grudgingly comfortable with them, though they were much more physically demanding, but cleaning glassware for hours on end seemed to him like nothing so much as sustained torture. 

Tommy huffed and rubbed the inside of Sol’s knee with one soft hand. “Like you haven’t had worse. Anyway, think I might need something to take my mind off it, is all.”

“Right,” Sol nodded, grinning wide and obscene. “Show me what you’ve learnt, then, eh?”

It was an old refrain for the two of them. The first time Sol had seen Tommy with his sweet full lips and expressive mouth, he knew the lad had it in him to be a champion cocksucker and cunny-eater both - and he  _ was _ quite eager, but he’d wanted training up quite badly when they’d first started. Now they were some months on, and Tommy had improved in leaps and bounds; quick study, he was, and always ready to learn. Extraordinary lad, really, Sol thought as Tommy took down his trousers and tucked his face in firm to the crease of thigh and groin. He always wanted to scent Sol first; Sol had taken to having a wash less often than usual, pushing himself to sweat more during the day, just so Tommy would have something to get his nose into.

From where he had his face buried in Sol’s crotch Tommy let out a shaky sigh, humid into the cotton of Sol’s smallclothes - the loudest noise he dared to make - and unlaced him to get his mouth around the flushed cock that crowned Sol’s slick gleaming lips. “Good lad,” Sol hissed, angling his head left to be heard in Tommy’s right ear. Tommy hummed and pressed in closer, suckling gently at Sol’s prick where it was firming up fleshy and fat. The way his lips formed around Sol like hot wet clay, and the tingling scratch of his evening-stubbled chin against Sol’s folds, were well worth waiting for. 

As he twitched and pulsed under Tommy’s soft mouth, Sol marveled again at how much and how quickly Tommy had learned him up. When he’d first tried, he had been like a piglet at a trough, face stuck in sloppy and eager with no strategy to speak of. Now he took his time, plying the tricks Sol had taught him on Tommy’s own sweet little cock and tight arsehole - tracing patterns through the leak of Sol’s fluids with his tongue, mouthing soft-lipped at his prick and slipping tongue under hood to worry the underside, nipping ever-so-daintily at his inner lips with careful teeth. He felt grateful to have found such a lover, almost dangerously so, almost to the point of jealousy. Looking down at Tommy with his eyes staring wide from where he was buried nose-to-chin in Sol’s cunt, with his head pressing obligingly into the tangling tug of Sol’s hand in his hair, it was impossible not to feel a pang of longing not just to fuck but to  _ hold, _ to  _ keep.  _

As Tommy pressed his tongue in lower to lick at the depths of Sol’s hole, taking in little snuffling breaths where his nose was pressed into the thick of Sol’s bush, Sol felt a wash of pride well up in him right along with the kicking craze of arousal. Tommy had learnt this all from him,  _ for _ him, for his own unusual body. He began to hump minutely into Tommy’s mouth, felt his spend start welling up from the boiling depths of him; Tommy was his, at least for now, molded into shape by his cunt and nursing his prick like a pearl. With this thought he pressed himself hard up against Tommy’s face - slick unyielding wall of teeth, tongue flicking wild below - and bucked tensely through his crisis once, twice, over and over again. Tommy sat firm and flushed against the roll of Sol’s hips, brow drawn and lashes fluttering, looking pleased as anything to be used in such a careless way. 

“God,” Sol sighed, long and reedy and quiet as he could. He stretched and shuddered and re-situated himself; patted his thigh with one hand and cupped Tommy’s cheek with the other. “God, Tommy. So good. Come up here. Done so good, lad.”

Tommy arranged himself on Sol’s lap awkwardly, limbs folding and tucking themselves into place like a calf learning to walk, but when he was sat in place he fell perfectly snug against Sol. His legs slotted wonderfully into the dip of Sol’s waist and Sol felt, with a glow of affection, that he was glad his curves had survived his ongoing attempts to flatten them - that this, surely, was cause enough for them to remain, to support this lovely lad and be a home for him. 

Tommy’s hands clutched soft and insistent at the meat of Sol’s upper arms; his face fell into the crook of Sol’s neck to taste his sweat; his arse dropped back, pushed out against the hand that Sol reached around to palm it with. In the dim valley of their fronts Sol could feel Tommy’s prick bobbing and twitching against his bare stomach. “Please,” he murmured, hot and frantic in Sol’s ear. “Bugger me, Sergeant, please.”

The words, so plain and brazen, set Sol to leaking again as he tugged Tommy’s trousers down enough to get a hand in and smear grease on the soft bud of his entrance. He tugged Tommy closer to himself, thrust his own hips out so the red head of Tommy’s cock almost touched his own. “Rub against me, lad,” he told him, jostling Tommy’s arse forward with his hand to get him started. “Not in, see, just up and down like so.” 

He took to it wonderfully, just as he did everything else; soon they had a proper rhythm going, with Tommy fucking himself between Sol’s thick fingers and Sol’s dripping folds and prick. Sol felt something like delirious as he clutched the shifting skin of Tommy’s waist with one hand and drove hard through the slick sleeve of his entrance and onto his sweet spot with the other. How he had found a lad like this, he thought, still buggered belief. He looked to Sol always with the shine of awed affection in his eyes, even after he knew what lay beneath the uniform so many lads would be taken with; took Sol happily, with the hunger of the starved, and asked nothing of his body but how to please him best. 

He wished dearly, as he nudged a third finger in beside the two that had been charting Tommy’s passage, for something more substantial to stick him with. He’d had to leave his cocks behind in England, for such items on a ship can only raise unanswerable questions, and besides, most men - even the ones he’d tangled with who’d been insistent on a poking - preferred flesh and blood. But somehow he knew Tommy would love it - if Sol could buy him something, or maybe make something up himself. His slit drooled hot and lazy up the underside of Tommy’s prick as he thought of it - a cock of his own, carved just so to please his Tommy, stretching him open in sublime measure.

“Want to know what I’m thinking, Tommy?” He spoke low and hot into Tommy’s good ear, nipping at the lobe for good measure. Tommy nodded, curls bouncing and lip bitten. “I’m thinkin’ that one day I’m going to carve a wooden cock for you to ride—” A pause, a gasp and half a moan from his lover. “You and your perfect arse. It was made for me, wasn’t it?” He squeezed the topic of conversation with his free hand, dipped his fingers down to stroke over Tommy’s hot hairy crack where it was spread wide for Sol. “So this would be made for you. Would you like that? Like to have my cock any time you please?” 

Tommy seized in his arms, gasping out a high and thready  _ Yes, yes, yes _ as he came in a drawn-out rush of quivering limbs. Sol felt it in his arse first, the tidal tightening of muscle; then the flood, bitter and scalding and perfectly wet over his own prick. He got a hand in and frigged himself roughly, grinding down hard against himself, and then he was coming too - second time in half an hour, bless this little steward. 

Tommy slid off his lap and back to his knees like a lump of treacle, rubbing his head against Sol’s thigh like a cat and - ah - sucking the seed from his belly and bush and prick with dedication. “Ey, ey,” Sol protested when he was pretty certain he was well clean and in no danger of absorbing any leftover seed and that Tommy was just gilding the lily. “Stop that now. You’re like to kill a man, I’ve got watch in half an hour.” 

Tommy obeyed with a sheepish smile and lowered lashes. He shoved to his feet awkwardly with a helping hand from Sol, who fussed over the lad’s hair and shirt and trousers for a long moment - whatever he’d just said, he was always sorry to see Tommy go. In the way he clung on afterwards he could see that they were of one mind, and enjoyed the lazy moments after an assignation just as much as the thing itself. He wished dearly to hold Tommy to himself in a warm and quiet bed and ask him silly questions until they both dozed. Perhaps, if Tommy were to rest his head upon his chest, Sol could learn to live more peaceably with the ugly and compromising swell of it. 

But a ship was no place to linger in repose. Too soon Sol had to relinquish Tommy from his combing grip and send him back to polishing guns and glasses - with a kiss on the cheek, a swat on the arse for good measure. He would follow soon enough, up to freeze on the weather deck until his face about dropped off. For now he sat and picked his nails, waiting for the requisite time to pass. Perhaps, he thought idly, he could slip a spare bit of wood and a carving tool from Mr Honey’s store. Failing that, he might at least be able to slip into Tommy’s bunk some night and hold him proper.

**Author's Note:**

> The bit of this fic with Tommy’s legs around Sol’s waist was inspired by the time my cat rested her little head right in the dip of my waist to go to sleep and I thought. Damn. That’s what it’s FOR


End file.
